


Afire Love

by QuickLikeLight



Series: Wrapped in Light [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Knotting, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, First Time, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega!Stiles, Porn with Feelings, Practice Kissing, Practice Rut, Racism against Werewolves, References to Breeding, References to Mpreg, Rimming, Scenting, Specism, alpha!Scott, play mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts on playgrounds and in classrooms, at lunch tables and in back yards, when they are unattended and unlooked for. Adults look the other way, smiling indulgently at one another as their pups chase tails in wide circles, scenting out receptiveness long before it ripens. This is when the alpha wolf smells their playmate, finds the one they’ll mount before they get the urge to bite. Scott McCall is an exception to a lot of rules, but not this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afire Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfhardtorock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/gifts).



> This is entirely [halfhardtorock's](http://halfhardtorock.tumblr.com) fault. The lovely [Maya](http://whatthehalefire.tumblr.com) beta read most of this for me, but I got all impatient and decided to post it before I sent her the end. Any mistakes or inconsistencies are completely my own doing. 
> 
> This is a hazy, non-linear sort of narrative. I think I put in enough timeline indicators that it can be followed without issue, but if you get confused and/or just want to know the order of the scenes, I've put a timeline in the end notes. Both Scott and Stiles are underage in this fic, but they are (roughly) the same age. There are minor references to breeding, and accidental knotting takes place. As with all A/B/O fic there is the possibility that some of this reads as dub con. All characters are consenting, but you know your triggers. Please take care of yourself.

It starts, like most things, when they are young.

It starts on playgrounds and in classrooms, at lunch tables and in back yards, when they are unattended and unlooked for. Adults look the other way, smiling indulgently at one another as their pups chase tails in wide circles, scenting out receptiveness long before it ripens. This is when the alpha wolf smells their playmate, finds the one they’ll mount before they get the urge to bite. Scott McCall is an exception to a lot of rules, but not this one.

 

“Smell so fucking good, Stiles,” he says, Stiles’ shirt bundled close to his face. His phone is on speaker, and he can hear the labored breath of his best friend on the line, practically feel the burning intensity of Stiles’ practice heat despite eight point two blocks of suburban waste between them. “Wish I was there. I’d mate you so good. You’d feel it for days. Want you on my knot so bad.”

He’s surprised when the words come pouring out of his mouth. He isn’t surprised enough to take his hand off his cock, or to move Stiles’ scent from his face. Stiles’ breathing ratchets up a notch, high, pitchy moans pouring through the speakers.

“Fuck, fuck, wish we could - Christ, Scott, need it, ugh,” he wails, and Scott can picture his hand working in his body, opening him up for a fat knot that he won’t get. Not this heat. _Maybe next time._

“Maybe next time, son,” Sheriff had said, sad little smile on his face. “He’s not quite ready for that yet.”

“But it’s just play -” Stiles had whined, shivery-hot with oncoming heat, too warm but not ripe, smelling of burnt rubber and spice.

“And my human son doesn’t play mate with wolves. Not when you’ve only got a handful of practice heats under your belt, and you’re still recovering from - well. Neither of you can control it yet. You spend this one alone, Stiles. That’s final.” The Sheriff had crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw in that way that meant it was hopeless, even if Stiles didn’t realize it yet. Scott knew though. It was fine. Maybe next time.

“Need your knot, Scotty. Need you in me so bad. It _hurts_.” His pained little whimpers make Scott’s alpha hormones rise all over, turning his nails to claws and his teeth to fangs. He rips Stiles’ shirt a little, biting into it to keep from roaring, to keep from calling for his mate. _No_. Playmate. It’s just practice. It’s just play.

“Next time baby,” Scott soothes as soon as he has a handle on himself, hand working his cock to the sound of Stiles’ mattress creaking.

“I can’t - I can’t -” Stiles sobs, and he sounds so desperate, so pained, that it takes a mouthful of fabric to keep Scott contained.

“How many fingers, Stiles?”

Stiles stutters for a moment before answering, “Three.”

“Curl them,” Scott says, alpha orders rumbling from his throat. Stiles keens at the sound of it, voice breaking as he follows his alpha’s direction. “Spread them out and curl them up. You’re so tight, honey. If you’re going to take my knot, you have to be ready.”

“I’m ready, I am, please, I am -”

“No you aren’t,” Scott growls, swift and rough. “Another finger. You need another.”

Stiles gasps and Scott can picture it, him working that finger into his slick opening, spreading his hand to open himself up.

“Ungh - I - I did it Scotty. It’s in. Shit, shit, hurts.”

“Easy,” Scott says, gripping the base of his cock as the knot starts to swell. He can almost feel Stiles around him, trembling and shaking as the knot pops in his tight little hole, squirming toward it and away from it at the same time. “How’s it feel?”

“Full,” he grunts. “So full. Wish it was you.”

“It is me. That’s my hand you’re using. Those are my fingers, aren’t they baby? They do what I say.”

“Ooooooh God, Scott -”

“Alpha,” Scott corrects, shuddering against his own mattress as the knot slides forward, tying his hand so slowly.

“Alpha, alpha, Christ, shit, I’m -”

“Come for me, baby,” Scott grits out, grinding his teeth around the words. “I’m going to knot for you. Come for me. Let me feel it. Come on. Come on my knot.”

The line goes quiet, quiet enough that Scott’s worried for half a second, before Stiles’ wailing groan sounds through the speaker. “Scott - Scotty - Scotty - Christ, Alpha, so good, fuck -!”

Scott wraps both hands and Stiles’ shirt around his knot as he comes, catching his spill in cotton, mixing their scents in a way that makes his heart thump in his chest, makes his eyes flash red. He holds it there, soothing at his knot with the soaked jersey until Stiles gains enough coherence again to grunt, unhappy little sounds from eight point two blocks away.

“Starting again already.” They don’t have time to come down but that’s okay. Practice heats are like that. They’ll adjust.

“Want me to talk you through it again?” he asks, voice hoarse and balls aching.

“Please, Scotty,” Stiles whimpers.

“Anything,” Scott says, instant and soothing. “What do you need?”

“Tell me about next time?”

 

 

When they are eight, Claudia finds them in Stiles’ room, wrestling. Scott pins Stiles over and over, hovering over him and nipping at his face with blunt, human teeth. She laughs, but pulls him off. Makes him promise not to do it when no one’s around.

He does his best to follow the rules, to obey her wishes. Stiles doesn’t. Scott pins him for that too.

 

 

The rut comes on earlier than expected. Much, much earlier. He wouldn’t even believe it himself, but Stiles’ nose is better than most, and he can smell the rut-stink radiating off of Scott all the way from the cafeteria. He doesn’t ask how, or why, Scott’s going into rut at only sixteen, a full year before he should. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is getting him home. Or maybe to a doctor.

He realizes that might be a problem about the time Scott scents him.

“Not here, Scotty,” he begs, pulling Scott away from the crowded lunchroom. “Gotta go home, can’t do this here.” Scott growls, throws him up against the wall and flashes his eyes like he’s going to bend Stiles over right then and there.

Part of him wants it. A big part. Almost all of him.

But he knows better. Knows Scott would be the one in trouble if he did it, even if Stiles is the one in his right mind. So he thinks quick, scanning the room for possible - Ah. There we go.

“Jackson’s right there, Scott. You have to get me home before he sees me. If he comes over here, he might claim me before you can!” It’s a risk, appealing to the wolf instead of the boy, but Scott’s boy is so far under Stiles isn’t sure he could get to him. He crosses his fingers and his legs, and hopes this doesn’t end in a bloodbath. Scott’s eyes catch on Jackson Whittemore, surrounded by a table full of adoring alphas and betas. Stiles can practically see him calculating his odds, deciding whether or not it’s worthwhile to approach without a pack, to defend what’s his.

“Just take me home, Scotty,” he begs, whimpers, drudging up some of that heat-desperation from his memory. Scott’s red gaze is all his again and he does his best to squirm appealingly, like maybe he’s leaking for it, right there in front of everyone. Maybe he is, a little. “Please just take me home and mate me, alpha.”

The trip to the parking lot is the fastest of his life. The Jeep is open, and he bites his tongue as Scott tosses him into the driver’s seat. The smell of his blood just seems to aggravate the wolf more, so he keeps his mouth closed and his eyes on the road, trying to ignore the way Scott’s cock hangs fat and heavy in his basketball shorts.

His dad’s home, so his house is out, but Melissa should be at work. They’ll have time, hours of time to work Scott through the worst of the rut, to play and bite and fuck until he’s sated enough to think straight. The thought makes Stiles’ throat tight, makes his ass wet with the want of it. He wants to pull over, to just mount Scott’s dick and ride him right there on the side of the road, but he doesn’t - he doesn’t - because Scott would want it in a bed, somewhere they can roll around and kiss and touch without worrying about being seen, being heard, being stopped. He keeps driving, for Scott.

When he pulls into Melissa’s driveway and she’s standing on the front porch, all he can do is groan.

“Thanks for bringing him home, Stiles,” she says, voice all quiet strength. “Your dad’s waiting for you at the house. You should probably go on home to him.”

“Aren’t you - shouldn’t you - I mean, you were at work, right? I could have handled it, you didn’t have to skip work,” he tries, and he knows what it sounds like, he knows, the desperation so close to the surface, but he wonders -

“Allison Argent called me. She said she was worried about you, and about Scott.” She nods at him as she pulls her son out of the Jeep, soothing him with her own alpha rumble. Scott quiets for her, easy as pie, and Stiles lets his forehead thump against the steering wheel. “It’s too early for him to be in rut, Stiles. He’s too young. I need to get him to a doctor, make sure there’s nothing wrong. It’s not -” She hesitates.

“It’s not me, it’s you, right?” Stiles laughs, bitter. “It’s fine. My dad - he doesn’t want it either.”

Melissa frowns, deep lines etched around her mouth and eyes. “Your dad is worried, and I won’t say he doesn’t have reason to be. I don’t care that you’re human, though. I just don’t want either of you to get hurt. I love you both. We both do. We’d hate to see something happen that would hurt either of you.”

“I’m not made of glass,” he objects, but he knows what they mean, how tough it will be for Scott to control during rut, how easily those claws could tear right through him. How impossible it would be to get away.

He aches for that impossibility.

“Go, Stiles,” she says, holding Scott close to her chest where he shivers, shaking through the first waves of rut. “He’ll call you when he’s feeling better.”

“Will you tell me what the doctor says, at least?” he feels human when he looks at Scott’s red eyes and sharp claws, but Melissa’s sad quiet makes him feel weak.

“Go home, Stiles. Your dad is waiting.”

 

 

They’re in the junior high chemistry lab when Mr. Forrester catches them, Scott’s claws buried in Stiles’ shoulders as he mounts Stiles’ clothed ass again and again, mouthing at the omega’s neck. They smell like heatsex and hormones, ripe and spilling out of their pores. They are twelve, barely presented, and the school nurse tuts disapprovingly when she puts antiseptic on Stiles’ skin.

“Wolves should mate with wolves,” she says, ignoring Scott completely. “Are you an animal, boy?”

Stiles nods, defiant. If Scott’s an animal, he is too.

She just shakes her head at him. “Stick with your own kind. It’s safer. Boys can’t be playmates with beasts.”

 

 

They’re in the preserve, sitting so close their hands almost touch, but not quite. The easy affection that’s always been there is strained, and Scott knows it’s his fault, that he’s the one doing it, but he can’t touch Stiles. He can’t, or he won’t stop.

“The doctor called it a pre-bond. I sort of went into a practice rut.” The words come out automatically, like he practiced in the mirror. “He says we can break it, if we - if I keep my distance. Just until the bond breaks. Then we can go back to normal.”

“Is it my fault?” Stiles chews his lip like he wants to say more, but Scott won’t let him.

“It’s mine. I shouldn’t have - I knew better than to -” He stops, sighing.

Stiles is quiet. His face doesn’t say anything, his lips don’t move, he’s just quiet and still, like he’s waiting for the next part, like there’s more to this story.

“There’s no other cure. It’s just… distance. And, ah, time.”

Stiles makes an angry little sound that punches Scott in the gut. “Cure? You make it sound like a fucking disease. Like there’s something wrong with us.”

“It’s not wrong, it’s just -”

“I’m just not enough. You don’t want me.” Stiles says it like an edict, like a law carved into stone, and it makes Scott’s blood boil. He closes the distance between them, pushing Stiles to the ground and hovering over him with teeth at his throat.

“Don’t,” he manages through fangs and tongue fatted up with anticipation. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

Stiles’ hands smooth through his hair, over the nape of his neck and behind his ears, in vulnerable places he wouldn’t let anyone else touch. No one but Stiles.

“You wanna be my alpha?” Stiles asks, voice dark and rough. “You wanna mate me up Scotty? Give me your bite, for real? I’ll take it. I want it.”

“You can’t -” Scott tries to hold back, to resist, but his hips work without his permission, grinding Stiles’ body into the grass underneath them. “Can’t say those things to me Stiles. The wolf doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles says, bucking back up against him with intent. “I can teach him. Once we’ve mated. He might listen to me then.”

 

 

They are fifteen. They don’t stay the night together often anymore, not since they’ve both presented, and when they do, someone’s always home. But Melissa’s working the night shift, and the Sheriff’s out on a traffic call turned multi-car pile up with a suitcase of money and a case of illegally imported candy in one of the trunks, and he calls to say, “Go to bed early. Well, early for you. Don’t eat the ice cream in the freezer, I’m pretty sure it’s bad. Don’t break anything.”

It doesn’t take long for something to build between them, filling their stomachs up with excitement, anticipation.

“Hey, Rover, get your shoes off my bed,” Stiles says, smirking when Scott growls at him.

“If you want ‘em off, come take ‘em off,” Scott challenges, scuffing the soles of his sneakers against the sheets. Stiles frowns and grabs at them, but Scott’s too quick, getting his feet underneath him before Stiles can reach.

“We have to sleep there, man,” Stiles groans. “You know how I feel about bedding, dude. I can’t - just - ew. You know? Ew.”

“What, like you haven’t done worse on these sheets?” Scott laughs, bouncing good naturedly as he talks. Stiles flushes bright red, remembering his practice heat just last week, his very first one, how hot and needy and dirty it had been. Scott must smell it in the room still, the hot wet stink of omega heat. It makes his stomach curl up, the spaces between his toes itch. “You totally have, I know you have,” Scott continues, stepping down off the bed to stalk him across the room. Stiles backs up, but there isn’t much place to go; his room’s not very big, and Scott’s body is there, cutting him off from the staircase.

“Maybe,” he gulps, looking for an escape route he doesn’t really want to find.

Scott’s quick, for an alpha. He doesn’t lumber like the Twins, or need to build up speed like Boyd or Danny. He’s fast over long distances, like most alphas are, but he’s also quick like this, short little spaces that get eaten up by all his lithe grace. Stiles is on the ground before he even realizes Scott moved, hands gripping Scott’s shoulders, rubbing at the skin of them under the cover of his tank top.

Scott pins him, and waits, eyes brown and laughing as Stiles gets his brain back online. He struggles underneath the alpha’s weight, rocking side to side to try and push him off, flip them, get Scott on his back. He’s taller than Scott, longer, but he’s leaner too, and where Scott’s all dense with alpha musculature, Stiles is a little soft, practice heats leaving him too tired to run laps.

That’s what he tells Coach, anyway, when he skips gym because he can’t even be in the locker room anymore without thinking about crawling up onto one of those hard benches and presenting his ass to his alpha.

Things have been different since they presented, and the difference is so evident as Scott hangs there above him, goofy sunshine smile sliding off his perfect face, being replaced by something darker, more predatory. Scott leans down, drags his nose up the side of Stiles’ neck, scenting him in a way that is both intimately familiar and painfully new. Scott trembles above him, elbows and knees sagging, and Stiles makes his move. He flips them, sitting astride his alpha and pinning Scott’s hands to the floor, wriggling and squirming as Scott bucks his hips off the ground, pushes them both up with his feet and his shoulders.

“Watch it Scotty!” Stiles laughs. “You’ll hurt yourself. Or worse, me.”

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” his voice seems deeper, huskier than Stiles remembers, low with that alpha gravel it gets now and again. It makes something deep inside him shiver, want to go belly up for the big bad wolf. Scott’s eyes flicker red, just for a second, and he growls, “I’ll take such good care of you.”

_Oh, fuck._

It only takes a quick roll of the spine to unseat him after that declaration, and Stiles is back on the floor, landing hard on his side. His head smacks the ground and his brain spins, dizzy with pleasure and pain and pheromones. Scott scoops him up, trapping his body between strong thighs, and sips the pain from him like water, hands on either side of Stiles’ neck.

There’s a pause that feels sort of like a decision, with Scott’s big earnest eyes boring into his own. It feels good to nod, to say yes. It feels so good, and he doesn’t resist when Scott swoops in to drink kisses from his mouth, nibble at his lips like they are a delicacy. He goes all pliant and soft with it, letting Scott arrange him, pull his limbs and direct his flesh, until they’re pressed together from chest to hip, and Stiles’ legs are wound carefully into Scott’s.

“It’s just play,” Scott tells him, petting his skin, ripping his shirt. “It’s just to practice, like your heats. All the wolves do it. Derek told me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Stiles says, nods, pushing at Scott’s clothes, trying to get at his dick. “Whatever, let’s just -”

“Gotta tell me it’s okay, Stiles,” Scott groans, sinking his face into the bare curve of Stiles’ neck. His breath is hot on Stiles’ skin as he pleads, hips rocking hard into Stiles’ own. “It might hurt a little, but only a little okay? And then it’s gonna be so good. But you gotta tell me you want it or I can’t do it. Okay? Do you want it?”  

“It’s just play right?” Stiles asks, shoving his shorts down past his ass. It feels frantic, urgent, like he needs to be on his knees under Scott’s body _right now_ , ten minutes ago, last week during his heat. The thought makes his face burn and his cock ache, twitching in the loose hold of his boxers. “Gonna mate me Scott? Gonna play like we’re mates?”

Scott ducks his head, a low rumble peeling out of his chest, and for a harrowing moment, Stiles’ stomach drops. He’s misread this somehow, horribly, and Scott’s upset, and he’s going to leave, or worse, he’s going to look at him with those disappointed Scott eyes he gets sometimes and -

“Turn over,” Scott cuts off his line of thinking, bundling him over onto his stomach. His boxers are gone before he can even really process the sound of fabric tearing, and then Scott is lifting his hips, helping him get into position.

Helping him _present_.

The thought of presenting for his Alpha, for Scott, wrecks him. He whines and keens, burying his face in the soft fold of his elbow until Scott pulls back on his hips, makes him push up on his forearms. Scott’s hands run hot and restless over his back, trying to soothe but mostly just inflaming the fire that’s burning in his gut. He’s not in heat, not even a practice one, but he can feel the slick building up inside his cunt, ready to spill out around an alpha cock. Scott’s cock.

“Smell so fucking good Stiles,” Scott croons behind him, hands tracing the outline of his ass, spreading his cheeks. “Fuck. You’re - are you in - ?”

“No, no, don’t know -” Stiles shakes his head, worried that Scott’s going to pull back, to stop. “Please don’t leave, just keep -”

“Shhhh, s’okay,” he says instead, petting softly at Stiles’ soft, slick, pink hole with curious, probing fingertips. “Not going anywhere. We just got started.”

Stiles rocks back, the need to be filled suddenly clawing at him from the inside, making his bones ache with it. He wants those fingers - _Scott’s fingers_ \- in him, more than he wants the air in his next shuddering breath. He whines and hunches his hips for them, rolling his spine and popping his ass, presenting so well for Scott. Scott rewards him with just the tip of one slim finger, pressing gently, so gently, inside.

“Fuck, Stiles, fuck, you’re -” Scott’s breath is scorching over his hole and it takes Stiles a second to recognize that his best friend’s forehead is pressed hot to his skin, just at the curve of his ass.

“What? I’m what?” he begs, needing more of Scott’s fucked out voice, the silky glide of his finger, the hot air from his lungs.

“So pretty,” Scott groans, and it should be - well, it should be strange, hearing something like that fall out of Scott’s mouth. Scott is the pretty one, of the two of them, with his solid Alpha body and his dark, wavy hair and his soft, warm, brown skin that makes Stiles think of days at the beach, all coconut milk and sandcastles.

“No, no, you’re gorgeous,” Scott says, and Stiles thinks maybe he was saying those things out loud but he can’t tell because Scott slides another finger in and he aches with it.

“More, more Scotty, gimme more, I can take it -” he pleads, rutting his ass back on Scott’s hand. Scott’s knuckles press hard to his rim and he is so aware of it, soft and pliant with his arousal, like he’s getting ready for something big. Like he’s going to take a knot.

As soon as the thought hits him his face hits the floor and his hips move frantic against Scott’s hand. It isn’t even something Scott can give him, not until he’s old enough to mate for real. He won’t pop a knot until he’s gone into rut, and that is years off, but the more he thinks about being knotted, about Scott’s knot, the more he aches to have it. He’s swamped with jealousy at the thought of the omega Scott will do this with when it means something, when it isn’t play. Still, he wants. Maybe it means something, to want that much.

“Want your dick Alpha,” he grits out, able at least to keep from saying the word, keep his desire behind his teeth. “Want it in me so bad. Just give me a little, _please_.”

“It’s just play, Stiles,” Scott says, but his tongue dips in, circling Stiles’ rim and whiting out his brain. Scott groans against him, lapping at the slick slipping out of his cunt like it’s water, like he’s desperate for it, and Stiles can’t help the little whimpers that fall out of his mouth. “Want to so bad but I can’t.”

“Why not?” He knows he’s whining, that it sounds desperate and needy, but he can’t help it.

“If it’s just play I can’t -” Scott stops, squirming his tongue in for another taste before continuing, panting hot breath over his hole, “- I don’t think I’m supposed to mount you. Not to play.”

“But -” Stiles sputters, mind racing as he tries to think around the fingers curling in his cunt. “But how will you know how?”

“What?” Scott’s barely listening, he can tell, but he pushes, tries to sound logical, convincing.

“If you don’t practice mounting, how will you know how to do it when it matters?”

Scott stops, pulls back and makes a little noise like maybe it hurts him to do it. Stiles gets that, he does, so he arches back, rocking himself on the jut of Scott’s fingers. They aren’t enough, but if Scott leaves he won’t even have this, and that -

Well, it can’t happen.

“I know how to mount, Stiles,” Scott says, voice soft. “You know I do.”

And Stiles knows he’s thinking of the lab, of his hips hot and heavy against Stiles’ own, his claws digging into the flesh of Stiles’ shoulders, his sides. Of the way the nurse looked at Stiles like he was something to be pitied, mounted by a wolf though they’ve only just presented.

As if being under Scott wasn’t the best place he’d ever been.

Stiles surges forward and up, twisting and growling, pushing Scott back onto his back. His fingers are gone and Stiles aches for them, but he needs this more, needs to see Scott’s face as he tells him, “I trust you, Scott. I trust you. You’re my Alpha. You’ll take care of me.”

“I might hurt you,” Scott says, eyes dark with lust. “I won’t mean to, it’ll just - it’ll just happen and I couldn’t forgive myself. I couldn’t.”

The words are a struggle to get out, don’t want to come out from behind his lips where they are safe, where they cannot destroy anything. “What if we pretend I'm yours?”

“What do you mean?”

“Alphas don't hurt their omegas during heat, or rut, not even the human ones. Your protective instincts keep you from hurting us.” He doesn’t add the _mostly_ , because it’s implied. Besides, Scott wouldn’t - and if he did, Stiles would probably be okay with it. He does add, soft and quiet, “If we're mates.”

“We aren't,” Scott says, immediate, deafening. “We can't. We’re too young.”

“But we could pretend.” It tastes like poison in his mouth, even if Scott’s right. Even if they’re too young for this to be real. “Just for a little while. Just while we play.”

“I don’t know,” Scott says, sounding a little desperate. “I don’t know Stiles. I don’t know if it will work.”

“We can try,” he soothes, rubbing his hands over Scott’s bare shoulders. He bends down and kisses the taste of his slick from Scott’s mouth, groaning at the sharp tang of it. He likes it. He likes how he tastes on Scott’s tongue. “Try for me. Just for practice. For play.”

He knows he’s won when Scott relaxes underneath him. He’s not sure he knows what he may have lost, but that’s a question for a time when Scott isn’t under him, naked and warm and strong and perfect, perfect. “Perfect for me, Scotty,” he says, running the tip of his nose down the tendon of Scott’s neck, scenting him like a wolf. Scott shivers, pliant and easy.

“Perfect for each other,” Scott corrects him, sweet and affectionate, no bite at all. “Always knew we’d be perfect together Stiles. Always knew you’d -” he cuts off, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Stiles grins.

“I’d what?” he teases, straddling Scott’s waist. He can feel the slick on his thighs, so wet for his alpha, and he rubs it all over Scott’s body. They may not be - well, anything, but Scott will smell like him when they’re through, damn it. They’ll smell like they are, even if it’s just for a little bit.

Scott whines, hips rutting into the air as Stiles teases him, teases himself. “Don’t make me say it, man,” he blushes harder, eyes downcast. “‘t’s embarrassing.”

“Alpha instincts got you all riled up?” Stiles grins, licking at Scott’s mouth. He can guess, though, what Scott meant. What he wants to say. “Want to turn me over and mate me good and hard? Tie my ass up with your fat alpha knot?”

“You can’t - Don’t -” Scott struggles, eyes burning red when he opens them, face screwed up with the effort not to do just that.

“S’okay, Scotty,” Stiles says, crouching low over his alpha’s body. Scott is his, if only for right now. “Let’s play, okay? Really play. I’m going to run. And you just see if you can catch me.”

He doesn’t make it to the doorway even, but he didn’t expect to. The carpet is rough against his skin and it burns in the best way as Scott snarls and drags him back, hands slotted around Stiles’ hips like he owns them. His knees and elbows bear the brunt of it, skidding along the ground, and he lets them fall slack, letting his alpha do the work of getting him into position. Getting him ready to mount.

Scott holds him in place, rocking his thick cock into the cleft between Stiles’ cheeks, slicking it up with Stiles’ arousal.

“Gonna put my dick in you,” he growls, and it sends Stiles’ heart into overdrive, pounding against the cage of his ribs. “Gonna mate you so good, baby. You’re mine, Stiles. I’m gonna knot you up and _breed_ you. Fill you full of pups and keep you that way. Always full of me.”

Stiles arches back, pressing his ass up and out, presenting so pretty for his alpha. He can feel it, Scott’s happiness, his alpha pride washing over them both at what a good omega Stiles is being. At how well he’s going to take that cock.

It takes them both by surprise when the head slips in, sudden and harsh as it squeezes past the sharp-hot hug of his rim. It’s big, and he knew it was, but it feels so much bigger inside the clutch of his body than it looked. He’s only ever had fingers inside of him, his own and Scott’s, and this aching stretch is like nothing he’s ever felt before. He whimpers and keens, wriggling his hips to get more, or less, something - anything - to ease the overwhelming ache in his cunt.

“Scott - Scott, please -” he begs, not sure what he needs, limbs trembling with the effort of staying up and ready for his alpha. Tears gather in his eyes and he knows, objectively, that it’s normal for there to be pain, but he doesn’t want Scott to stop, so he bites his lips ragged, keeps his eyes focused up at the top of the doorframe, so the salt won’t spill over.

“Easy, baby,” Scott whispers with that hint of a lisp that says his fangs are out, and a gentle hand drags over Stiles’ sweat-sheened back as Scott pushes _in_. The stretch is tremendous, makes him drop his head between his shoulders, makes his eyes water despite his best intentions, but Scott doesn’t stop. His alpha just keeps pressing, working himself in deeper until their hips are pressed together, flush and sweaty where they touch and Stiles is going to lose it. He’s going to lose his mind to this.

“Just don’t stop okay? Whatever you do just don’t -”

“Not going anywhere, Stiles. You’re okay with me,” Scott says, squeezing his waist with claw-tipped hands, so careful. “Can you ease forward for me baby?”

“Nuh-uh,” Stiles shakes his head, grunting at the way it jostles Scott inside him, the way his insides clamp down around that cock like his body knows how bad he wants to keep Scott there. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Why? Because it hurts?” Scott’s voice is all gravel and concern, and the mixture is so odd, so Scott, that it makes Stiles want to laugh, so he does, and the ache eases a bit.

“Because I don’t want it to be over.”

Scott’s chest molds to his back, strong Alpha arms wrapping around his ribs, tucking up to curl around his shoulders. It is so intimate, exactly the kind of thing Scott would do if they were mating for real, and it feels like a punch to the gut. He whimpers, soft and low, hoping Scott won’t hear, but it’s all too hot and too close for that, with Scott’s breath skirting his ears as he says, “We’ll make it last as long as we can, okay? I don’t want it to end either.”

The first thrust makes his elbows quake. The second has his knees turning the jelly. The third leaves him breathless, suddenly hyper-aware of the blood throbbing in his own cock hanging hard and neglected between his legs. He lets himself sag to the floor, hips held high and shoulders resting on the ground, body contorted so that Scott can pump and press into that deep, aching part of him that needs this so badly.

“God, Stiles, you’re so hot, fuck,” Scott grunts, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ back. His hips flex and shift, pushing that fat cock deep into Stiles’ body, and every hard-perfect thrust of it makes it easier to let go, to believe this is real, that Scott is his. That he’ll get a knot to ride, a bite to hide under his clothes until it heals, the perfect imprint of his best friend’s claim in his flesh. “Wish you were my omega for real. Want you to be.”

“You _are_ mine, Scott,” he growls, ass clenching around that thick cock in waves. “You have been _mine_ since the day I found you. I don’t care if you’re a wolf, you’re my alpha. Your knot is mine and your bite is mine and you are mine. Got it?”

Scott rears back with a roar that makes Stiles’ hair stand on end, makes slick pour from his cunt and his cock drool pre-come all over the floor. He thrusts hard and fast, dragging Stiles’ sensitized skin against the carpet. His claws dig into Stiles’ soft middle, digging deep, but it doesn’t even hurt. It just adds a sharp edge to the sensations building inside him, sending him hurtling toward release. It is rough-filthy-perfect and Stiles can’t help the stream of words that spill from his mouth, the overwhelming need to tell his alpha what’s sitting in the pit of his gut.

“Fuck me alpha,” he grunts. “Knot me up. Want to feel it for days. Want you to come in me. Want to be full of you. Come on. Bite me. Come on Scott. Take what’s yours.”

The knot pops so quickly, neither of them have a chance to pull away. Even as it’s happening Stiles is torn between scrambling off of Scott’s dick and leaning back, pressing into the harsh, painful stretch of it so that it fills him just right. As it is, he can do nothing but hang there, suspended between pain and relief as Scott ties him up, high, keening whines spilling from between his fangs. He shudders and shakes under Scott’s body until his alpha wraps him up, pulling Stiles off the floor and onto his knees, harder onto the knot. Scott’s hand is quick and sloppy on his dick, stroking him with unsteady pulls that make his gut roil, make his cunt clench around the knot. When he comes, he throws his head back, howling at the ceiling, as if he’s the one with teeth and claws.

And then Scott bites him.

 

 

The feeling of Stiles underneath him again is so good he can almost forget the way the Sheriff had looked, finding Stiles naked and bleeding in his arms.

 

 

“Stiles, is everything okay?”

The sound of his dad’s voice doesn’t quite cut through the orgasm haze. The slamming open of his bedroom door sort of does.

“What the hell -” Dad closes his eyes, turns away like he’s maybe going to be sick. Scott’s hands are tensed around his waist and the claws are long gone but the gouges in his sides remain, bleeding sluggishly over his flush-hot skin. On the landing, his dad is doubled over, hands on his knees while he takes in deep breaths, one after another, through his mouth.

“Scott, you know I love you. I don’t want to hurt you. Just… Christ, get the fuck away from my son.” The words are sharp, breathless and panicked sounding, and Scott tries to move away before they realize, remember.

“He can’t, he can’t - Scott, don’t,” Stiles says, scooting back to keep Scott pinned, settling himself solidly on Scott’s lap.

“What do you mean he can’t?” Dad stops scrolling through his cell phone for long enough to glance at them, and flinches. A low, rumbling growl sounds from Scott’s throat, and it makes Stiles warm inside, to hear his alpha defending him. Defending them.

“We, uh, may... be tied. A little. Dad. Sorry?” It’s awkward, but then Scott shifts and the knot drags against his prostate again and he can’t help it. A little pleasured groan rolls out of his mouth and his head falls back, resting on Scott’s shoulder.

“Oh God.” His dad is talking, still talking, but all he can hear is Scott’s low rumble of a growl, reverberating against his ear. Scott’s tongue swipes over his neck, cleaning the blood from his skin and it feels so real, like maybe if Stiles looked deep inside of himself, he’d find the mating bond, solid and strong, strung between them like red thread. Like maybe this was fate. The door to Stiles’ room closes and the sheriff’s voice is muffled on the other side: _Yeah, Melissa, listen… we need to talk._

“Mate,” Stiles sighs, nuzzling his face against Scott’s warm neck. “You tried to mate me.”

“Can’t until the scent gland is fully developed,” Scott says with a sad sounding sigh.

“Still tried though.” Stiles feels smug and powerful, tied to Scott like it’s his right, like this is his knot he’s still wrapped around all hot and tender. Scott grabs a blanket from nearby and covers them with it, wrapping Stiles up like he’s going to keep him. Like maybe his alpha has decided it’s time for a nap before the next wave of heat hits, and he’s making sure Stiles’ fingers and toes won’t get cold while the wash of heat hormones are wearing off.

“Hold on okay?” Scott asks, arms wrapped securely around him. “Don’t move, and hang onto my arms. Don’t panic.”

“What? Why?” Stiles panics.

“Gonna pick us up and take you to bed. Don’t worry. Just trust me okay?” It is extremely awkward, with Stiles’ back pressed to Scott’s chest and his feet wobbling over the floor, but Scott gets them there, lays them down like Stiles is just an extension of his own body now. He curls up tight against Stiles’ back and it feels so right, too right, like maybe there’s something wrong with them to feel this good this soon.

“Tried to mate me,” Stiles says again, rolling the idea around in his head, in his mouth.

Scott presses kisses to the nape of his neck. “I wanted to. I want to.”

Stiles hums, achingly full and happy. “Me too.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up with Melissa and Dad standing over him, faces severe.

“Wake up Scotty,” he sighs as the soft knot slides out of him, making them both grimace. “I don’t think we’re having any more sleepovers, dude.”

 

 

They play mate in secret. They don’t pretend again, but they don’t have to now. Even with their scent glands still unripened, deep below the surface of the skin, the pre-bond forces Scott’s knot every time. Every time it’s a little bigger, a little stronger, a little harder to take and give back. Every time it's a little more perfect than the last.

Scott knots his omega in the preserve, in the back of the Jeep, in the locker room at school. Stiles rides his alpha in his boyhood bed, at the animal clinic where Scott works, in an abandoned railway car on the outskirts of town.

They walk around smelling of one another, like they’re already mated, like it’s not even a question. Scott doesn’t bat an eye when omegas notice him, notice how strong and filled-out he’s become, how nicely his shoulders fill his shirts, how warm and protective he looks, draped over Stiles’ back. Stiles holds his head high when other alphas sniff around, attracted by the rich, receptive smell of his practice heats. He doesn’t need to feel ashamed of that smell. It’s because of Scott.

They play mate in the school nurse’s office, and Stiles wears the marks of Scott’s claws like a badge.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline:  
> \- Claudia catches young Stiles and Scott wrestling, pre-presentation (8 years)  
> \- Stiles and Scott get caught rutting in the lab, post-presentation (12 years)  
> \- Stiles and Scott play mate and accidentally form a pre-bond (15 years)  
> \- The Sheriff finds Stiles and Scott post-play mating (15 years)  
> \- Stiles calls Scott during his practice heat (16 years)  
> \- Scott goes into practice rut (16 years)  
> \- Scott and Stiles discuss their pre-bond in the preserve (16 years)  
> 
> 
> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


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